


Texting Gone Wild

by Sparcina



Series: How Frostiron Could Have Started [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Could also be called magic SM, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, Light BDSM, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki is Not Amused, M/M, Sexting, Texting, Tony wants it badly, Wrong recipient, too much masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: Tony clicked on ‘Sent Messages’. There, just below that text to ‘Cap’, was…1h55. Tony: God, Steve, I want Loki so much. Preferably on top, fucking me brainless. I don’t even mind if it hurts.He had sent that goddamn message, he really had. But not to Steve. He shook his head, trying to shuffle the letters in some other order, but L, O, K, I didn’t form that many meaningful anagrams. Ikol? Okil? Loik?“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” The irony was not lost on him. He was going to die tonight, thrown through another fucking window, because he was texting the wrong guy.





	

Once again, Tony spent the night in his room consoling himself with popcorn. He would gladly have wanked off, but his cock still felt sore for all those masturbation sessions in the last few days. Under normal circumstances, he didn’t have so much me-time, but bad guys were apparently a rare commodity these days, and not exactly amenable to something as basic as sex. At least, that was the theory.

And he, Tony Stark, alias Iron Man, CEO of Stark Industries, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist, pined for Loki Liesmith like a teenager.

Sighing–he was getting quite good at it–Tony picked up his phone and texted Steve. The other man would still be awake at this time of the night, if only to run another lap in the gym or destroy a hundredth punching bag. Tony didn’t miss the time when _he_ had been the punching bag. But water had run under the bridge and all that. Now Steve liked him, even got to making him pancakes in whatever time slot his ‘morning’ fell. Tony had helped Steve wrap Bucky around his little finger, and Steve… Well, matchmaking anybody with the God of Mischief was a risky endeavor.

1h23. Tony: _I can’t masturbate. My life sucks. Where are the evil monsters we used to punch to oblivion?_

Steve had evolved quite a bit since his awakening in the twenty-first century. Those words, which would have shocked him at first, no longer had that annoying effect.

1h27. Steve: _Don’t mix up everything. Why don’t you watch a movie?_

Tony eyed the screen of his ceiling television: the main actor of that boring thriller looked suspiciously like Loki. The same green, emerald eyes, those wavy, dark strands of hair that invited the worship of fingers, that mouth… God, that _mouth_ …

“God damn it.”

1h27. Tony: _I am, and it’s not helping._

He could practically hear the sigh from the other end. He threw some more popcorn in his mouth. His cellphone let out a chime.

1h28. Steve: _Why don’t you try a more direct approach?_

Tony snorted. “Seriously, Rogers?”

1h28. Tony: _We considered that option already. What part of ‘I don’t want to be defenestrated again’ was unclear to you?_

1h29. Steve: _Remember that I’m only trying to help._

Tony put his phone back on the nightstand and rolled up into a ball, willing sleep out of naught. Jarvis, that insufferable AI he had once considered a friend, had blocked him out of his lab with the following explanation.

“You need some sleep, Sir, or you will fall to pieces.”

In his bedroom, Tony continued to brood over such treason. What about his suits? They needed update, too, lest they fell to pieces. He would even have welcomed some official documents on his desk, if only it had meant he could do something… apart from pining like a teenager. Now he was a broken record, over everything.

“I don’t need sleep,” he muttered to himself, twisting the sheets around him. He was hard all over again. His life was so pathetic. “God, I want Loki so much. Preferably pn top, fucking me brainless.”

He reached for his phone and texted those precise words to Steve.

Or thought he did, at any rate. After fifteen minutes of cellphone silence, he began to worry that such a text might have been in the TMI category. He didn’t want to shy his best friend away with his fantasies. Honestly, he liked pancakes too much, and Steve deserved good friends, not idiot geniuses who yearned to be dominated by their ex-arch-enemy.

2h02. Tony: _Steve, are you ok?_

2h03. Steve: _Yes. Why do you ask? Do you need something?_

Tony stopped to breathe as he rolled up to their latest exchange. Nope, there wasn’t any reference to Loki fucking him. He hadn’t sent that message. He hadn’t…

“Wait a minute…” Goosebumps rose on his neck as several tones of dread dropped in his belly. “No, no, no…”

He clicked on ‘Sent Messages’. There, just below that text to ‘Cap’, was…

1h55. Tony: _God,_   _Steve,_ _I_ _want Loki so much. Preferably above me, fucking me brainless. I don’t even mind if it hurts._

He had sent that goddamn message, he really had. But not to Steve. He shook his head, trying to shuffle the letters in some other order, but L, O, K, I, didn’t form that many meaningful anagrams. Ikol? Okil? Loik? 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He was going to die tonight, thrown through another fucking window, because he was texting the wrong guy. The God of Mischief was only beginning to be an ally, and he would certainly not take kindly to that kind of sexual talking–see: harassment–from a mere human, be it Tony Stark or the President of the United States.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Tony went on, his usually working brain stuck on one judicious word. He tried to get up, pinching furiously at his phone to undo what could not, even for a genius, be undone.

“Jarvis,” he called, breathless. “I think I’ve done a terrible mistake.”

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

Whatever answer Tony had in mind receded behind panic: there was the unmistakable sound of boots in the corridor outside his rooms. He knew those boots. He knew very, very well whom they belonged to, and now was certainly not the moment to salivate. He had never been so glad to have invented the anti-materialization barrier. Not that it changed much, in the end.

The door opened a crack. Loki let himself in, wearing a dark, severe expression that promised to hurt a lot more than mere defenestration.

“I just received this,” the god spat.

And he threw his Starkphone at Tony.

Tony pretended he had been transformed into a statue for a moment. If he didn’t move, maybe Loki would lose interest. Not that he would stop wanting the god for all he was worth, especially when said god was covering the distance between them in two short, aggressive strides, hotter then ever with that deadly gleam in his eyes.

 “Was a mistake,” Tony blurted out, thinking about his legacy. He liked his body in one piece, as it was. “Didn’t mean to send that.”

All the oxygen in the room seemed to have made a quick exit. Tony held his breath, watching raptly as Loki towered over him–seriously, the guy was tall, and that was only fueling his fantasies; _shut up_ –and lifted his chin with one long, alabaster finger. Tony thought he licked his lips.

“Do you have a death wish?”

Tony gulped. “Probably. But I assure you…”

“You are already hard, Stark.”

“Am I?” Tony asked, in a daze.

In no time at all, he found himself tied down to the four corners of the bed with magic, completely naked. He could twist his neck around, but that was about his maximum range of movement. He felt cold all over, then hot, and then cold all over again, as a still fully clothed Loki bent to trace his spine with a bluish, icy finger.

“My veneer tends to fade under very specific circumstances,” the god crooned, pressing a thumb to his neck.

Tony could feel the strength there, how easily the god could have crushed his cervical vertebrae. He lay still, partly because magic forced him, and partly because he didn’t want to miss any part of this unexpected naked session. Not that Loki was naked. Yet.

His face, however, switched between beige and blue, aliens marks–scars?–blinking in and out all over his features. A most beautiful face.

“God, you are gorgeous,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“Am I not?” Loki let out an appreciative noise that made Tony’s cock twitch. Loki’s nostrils flared. The idea that the god could smell his arousal, every nuance of it, had Tony bit down his lip to stifle a very loud moan. This was happening. At long last. He didn’t mind the shivers born from those cold fingers, couldn’t mind it, couldn’t _use_ his mind when one digit was pressing against his hole, neither entering nor avoiding the crux of his displayed body.

“You want that finger inside you,” Loki whispered.

And without further warning, he shoved it inside, dry and rough and Tony could only scream in rapture, his blood alight with blissful pain. He felt his eyes roll back in his head.

“You take it well,” the god commented, almost nicely, as he prodded the inner mechanisms of the man building machines. “Do you touch yourself often, thinking of me?”

“Yes.” God, yes. All the time. Tony wanted to tell him how sore he was from all this me-time spent on fantasizing about exactly that moment, but his mind went back to prehistory at the sensation of a second finger sliding alongside the first. Loki scissored him open with practiced ease, touched every inch that mattered. He was so good, and Tony had enjoyed his share of lovers, and knowing that Loki was by far more experienced then all of them put together both turned him on and aroused extreme jealousy.

“Keep your mind on me,” Loki said directly in his ear, half his body plastered on Tony’s aching, sweaty one. “I am to be your only thought.”

“You are,” Tony rasped. His cock was leaking, begging for attention. “Always. God, I want…”

“You shall want what I give you.”

And then he felt a brush of cool air, and Loki was naked above him, his knees against his thighs, touching himself. Tony couldn’t say how he knew, but he just knew it, and wasn’t that the most enticing thing that had happened to him in a while–no, ever? Loki, straddling his butt, masturbating on his own bed of naked human flesh, while thrusting three fingers in a hole Tony wouldn’t have called tight, but Loki’s fingers were big, suddenly, and colder, and they touched… they touched…

Tony arched on the bed, ready to come. The fingers disappeared instantly, letting him frustrated and panting, aching for relief. He heard a groan above him, a word in a tongue he couldn’t place, and then Loki was ejaculating, painting long strands of semen on his lower back. Tony felt the irresistible urge to dip a finger and lick–and the almost as irresistible urge to slap Loki for forbidding him a mind-blowing orgasm.

He moaned, tried to move, and found that he could.

“Now you can masturbate,” Loki said.

He was back in his armor, not a hair out of place. Tony wished he had seen him naked.

“Not that I didn’t appreciate I few things here,” he said when he was sure he would be able to align more than one word, “but why did you-”

Loki turned around, back straight, and said in his trademark icy voice: “You ask that to that Captain of yours.”

Tony couldn’t believe it. “Are you jealous?”

His door was magicked shut so hard it shook and threatened to fall. Tony sat down carefully, wincing at the rough–albeit enjoyable–treatment of his ass and tasted Loki on a finger. Delicious. He wished…

Joy lit up his face. His next message would _definitively_ fall into the TMI category. And the one after that… He would make sure to be plain.


End file.
